Henry's POV
I returned to my hotel room and decided to take a long, hot bath to help me relax and get some rest.
As I lay my head on the pillow, my thoughts started racing again. I tried to push them away and focus on the present the feeling of the sheets against my skin, the hum of the air conditioning, the faint glow of streetlights outside my window.
Gradually, my body relaxed, and my eyelids grew heavy. As I drifted off to sleep, I reminded myself that I would get through this, one day at a time. No matter what the future held, I would take it step by step. And maybe just maybe things would get better. Holding onto that hope, I finally surrendered to sleep, letting my thoughts fade into the darkness.
The next morning, I woke to sunlight streaming through the window and the sound of cars passing by. Taking a deep breath, I stretched, feeling somewhat rested and ready to face the day. Whatever came my way, I had to deal with it.
I called Evelyn to find out where she was, and she told me she was out of town. When she asked why I was in Seattle, I had to lie, saying it was for business. I couldn't exactly tell her that I had come to see Camila because I suspected she might be pregnant with my child.
Before ending the call, I asked for Camila's number.
"Why are you asking? Are you interested in Camila?" Evelyn asked, curiosity evident in her tone.
"No!" I denied quickly. "I just... um... need to discuss business with her, that's all."
"Hmmm… alright, if you say so," she said, though I could tell she wasn't entirely convinced. But I didn't care. I needed to talk to Camila and figure out how to handle this.
Becoming a father was never part of my plan—not at this stage in my life when I still had so much I wanted to achieve. Camila's unexpected pregnancy had thrown everything off course, and I needed to have a serious conversation with her about it.
We had agreed to talk, but I had forgotten to ask for her number, and she hadn't given me hers either. That, along with her reluctance to meet up, frustrated me.
A message notification snapped me out of my thoughts. Evelyn had sent Camila's number. Without hesitation, I saved it and called her while pacing the room.
I clenched my jaw, gripping the phone tighter as I struggled to contain my frustration. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of anger, worry, and something I couldn't quite name.
"Camila, where are you?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.
There was a pause, followed by the faint clinking of glasses and muffled laughter in the background. It only made my unease grow stronger.
"I told you... at a bar," she slurred, her words slightly sluggish. "Don't worry, Henry. I'm fine."
I ran a hand down my face, exhaling through my nose in an attempt to stay calm. "No, Camila. You're not fine. You're pregnant. You can't be drinking."
Another pause. Then a soft, bitter laugh. "Well, maybe I don't want to be pregnant," she whispered.
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
A heavy silence stretched between us.
I swallowed hard, my mind reeling. Did she regret it? Was she trying to tell me something?
There was no response. My heart clenched as a terrible thought crossed my mind—had she passed out?
"Camila, I think we need to talk now. Where are you? I'll come to you." My voice was laced with desperation, a silent plea for her to answer.
Silence. Then, a different voice came through the phone.
"Uh, hello? Are you a friend of hers?"
"Yes. Where is she?" I asked urgently, my grip tightening around the phone.
"She's at The Barfly," the person said. "She's asleep in the back room."
"I'm on my way."
I grabbed my coat, my heart pounding against my ribs. A deep, unsettling fear settled in my chest, but beneath it, something even stronger burned—a fierce need to be by her side. To hold her, to make sure she was safe.
As I rushed through the streets, the only thought in my mind was her. Camila. The woman who had unknowingly claimed my heart.
Why would she turn to alcohol, knowing she was pregnant? Was she scared? Regretful? Did she think I wouldn't be there for her?
When I arrived at The Barfly, I went straight to the bartender.
"I'm looking for a woman—curvy, long dark hair. I was told she was here and drunk."
"Yeah, I'm the one who talked to you on the phone," the bartender said, nodding toward the back. "She's over there."
"Thanks," I said, handing him a tip before heading toward her.
Camila was lying down, looking exhausted and vulnerable. Seeing her like that made something tighten in my chest—a mix of worry, frustration, and something deeper, something I couldn't quite name.
I knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering against her warm skin. She looked so fragile, so breakable, and it made my heart ache.
"What the hell were you thinking, drinking like this?" I muttered, my voice softer than I intended. "You're pregnant, for Christ's sake!"
She stirred slightly, her lashes fluttering, but she didn't wake. A sigh left my lips as I reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. "I need to take you home. Can you tell me your address, Camila?"
Nothing.
Frustrated, I picked up her phone from the table and scrolled through her contacts, searching for someone who could help. I found a contact labeled Nancy.
I dialed.
"Hello, are you Camila's friend?" I asked.
"Uh… yeah. Who is this? And why do you have my friend's phone?" she asked, her voice filled with suspicion.